


Unworthy

by Maomaoyu



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst galore, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Time Travel, percy being a smart boi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maomaoyu/pseuds/Maomaoyu
Summary: If he didn't deserve him, he would give him someone who did.(Or the one where Perceptor goes back in time to give Drift happiness at the cost of his own.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is kinda really shit cause this definitely wasn't even proofread i don't believe I've ever been so excited to show something to the world

The lab was quiet.  

A mellow light lit the work bench, illuminating the corner where a mech stood working diligently, completely absorbed in his work. Dim shadows cast along the walls, shifting only when the mech inside did. Most of the other mechs onboard were deep in recharge, the few exceptions quietly trudging through their late cycle shifts. An almost serene atmosphere blanketed the _Lost Light_ , with most of the troublemakers and excitement powered down for the night. 

In the farthest reaches of the ship, towards the warm humming of the engines, was the lab. If someone were to walk past, they would not have ever noticed the mech slaving away inside way past his normal shifts had it not been for the sliver of light the peeked through the ajar door.

The soft clinking of tools being set down and picked up were the only sounds inside the lab, eased by the constant thrum of the engines.

Perceptor frowned, tightening his grip on the cable pinched between his fingers. A stray jolt of electricity sent a mild shock up his hand, but he kept steady as he rerouted the finicky wire. The scientist sighed, placing down the tweezers as he switched it out for a welder. He clasped the panel back into place, running the sparking flame of the welder along the seams to reattach the piece.

He should have been in recharge by now.

But he was gripped by what he had laid out on the table before him, the fragments of the machine not allowing him to return to his berth until he saw it repaired. Perceptor reached out to grab the wrench to his left without batting an eye, focused intently on reconfiguring a set of dials. He supposed it wasn’t exactly a major loss; it wasn’t if he had a real reason to return to his quarters. Recharge, he could easily make up for the next time he had an off shift.

But even as the red mech entertained the idea of actually taking care of himself, he knew that he would only spend his next offshift at this very work table regardless.

Perceptor spared a glance at the datapad at his side, hoping to glean something useful from the ungainly scrawl upon it. He couldn’t even bring himself to be disappointed when he verified that he could not, instead resigning himself to either figuring it out himself or spending the next joor trying to make sense of his labmate’s atrocious handwriting.

The specs for Brainstorm’s time machine were soon left forgotten at the table’s edge, Perceptor instead choosing to fine tune the damn thing himself.

He was going to be here a while.

Perceptor continued tinkering in the far left side of the lab, accompanied only by the sounds of his methodical work and the thrumming of the _Lost Light._

* * *

He did it out of love, but others would have said it was out of stupidity.

Perceptor could not have named the number of hours he had spent in the lab, nodding absentmindedly when Brainstorm left with a wave and a “You should take a break, Percy!”, ignoring the jet’s sigh as he made no move to clean up his workspace.

But it was fine. He had no other duties anyways, as Brainstorm and his skills were the ones required by Rodimus and the crew as opposed to his own methodical examinations. Perceptor would stand silently on his side of his lab even as his captain bustled into the room, greeting Brainstorm enthusiastically and handing him another project. As the flier set straight to work, Perceptor tried to ignore the pang in his spark when he was left to his own devices once more.

After the mishap with the quantum engines, he supposed that he was definitely not known for his speedy work and evaluation. Rodimus could not be faulted for not entrusting him with another order for some sort of nuclear weapon.

Weaponry had never been his forte anyway.

And so Perceptor had endless hours to spend on his own projects.

Why he had anything to work on in the first place, however, is a tragedy in it of itself.

* * *

 He supposes it hurt more because there had been no definitive end. There had been no talk, no soft apology or scathing rejection. He hated how they had just drifted apart, into a space where he couldn’t be sure if they were still involved or not. What had used to be mornings waking in his embrace and soft kisses was now to an empty space. The visits to his lab became more and more infrequent until he stopped seeing the other mech while he was on shift altogether.

Perceptor had never been the one to initiate in their relationship, and so it made sense that he could only stand and watch as he and Drift broke apart, until the only signs of the swordsmech he could catch were when Brainstorm dragged him out to _Swerve’s_ for a drink.

The red mech had been understandably confused; where had it gone wrong? Perceptor had tried to find an opportunity to corner and question Drift, but the other had proven to be extremely elusive.

When he had finally caught Drift on an off shift, the white mech had not been alone. Perceptor wasn’t exactly sure what had come over him, but he could only downcast his optics and stumble out when he caught sight of the way Drift’s hands had been threaded through Rodimus’ as the two of them chatted.

The swordsmech’s optics were alight with a soft mirth Perceptor could not say he had ever seen before, so very vulnerable and loving in a way he felt he had no right seeing.

That had been the moment he was sure whatever he and Drift once had was over.

The passing orns had been agony. Perceptor wanted to hate him, he really did. He tried with every fiber of his being to hate Drift and allow that to become the predominant emotion whenever someone mentioned the swordsmech.

But he couldn’t.

Alone in the confines of his habsuite, Perceptor lay on his berth, painfully aware of the cold emptiness next to him but unable to muster up even the slightest bit of justification to be angry. He offlined his optics.

He felt like he was floating.

Drifting aimlessly as the rest of the world moved on without him. The mechs around him living while he was alone existing.

Perceptor tilted his helm so his cheek pressed against the cool metal of the berth, trying to alleviate the sudden rush of hot shame that roiled through his frame. How had he been so blind to think that he could have had kept the attention of a mech as beautiful and raw as Drift?

He was pathetic. A flawed frame with spilled energon dripping from his trembling hands. Hands covered with gunpowder and sin even as they tried to clench and grasp what bit of forgiveness they could. A spark that should have been extinguished long ago. A spark that, when Perceptor really thought about it, didn't have a reason to continue flickering.

Perceptor tried to remember when there had been someone next to him, the warm frame that nestled close to him as he listened to Drift talk quietly into the night.

Too often he had heard a designation, one that obviously held so much reverence and love to Drift that he could find no traces of elsewhere. The white mech would talk for hours on end about him, of all the joy and change he had given.

And even as the swordsmech's gripped Perceptor's hand in his, the sniper could not help but feel as if Drift had wished that it had been a pair of gray servos instead of teal.

Now, alone staring into the dark if his habsuite, Perceptor clenched his hand only to pass straight through empty air. A sick feeling roiled in his stomach, an immeasurable amount of jealousy and a sense of inadequacy surging straight to his spark.

His shoulders began to shake, and Perceptor tightened his grip on his abdomen until he nearly dented his side. He felt a dam break; one that he had desperately tried fortify with a crumbling ambition.

Alone in the dark, Perceptor sobbed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry this took so damn long, i really do apologize this isn't even a long chapter and consists even of more Perceptor needing a hug
> 
> hope you decide to stick around tho, cause I swear there is actual plot coming along in the next chapter 
> 
> enjoy!

“I miss him.”

Perceptor shifted as Drift gave his servo a soft squeeze. He didn’t online his optics, unwilling to break the gentle darkness wrapping around them. The other mech felt warm pressed against the length of his back, a white helm nestled on his left shoulder. An arm curled lazily around his abdomen, the gray servo attached to it interlaced with his own.

Drift breathed a soft sigh, and Perceptor held back a shiver when he felt it ghost past his audial, a phantom caress that showed just as much as the physical that enveloped his frame. He squeezed the gray servo in return, hoping that it went across as reassuring like he had meant it to be.

The red mech didn’t bother asking who Drift was talking about.

The white mech’s frame, despite being shorter than his, tried its hardest to envelop him, a leg thrown carelessly over his own. Perceptor pressed into Drift, twining his arm with the swordsmech’s before bringing it closer to his chest. He opened the tight-fisted servo with a gentle hand, splaying it across his chest where his Autobot badge lay. He turned his head when he heard Drift suck in a sharp breath behind him.

“I’m sorry.”

Perceptor peered at Drift with half-lidded optics, the blue of his gaze offering silent comfort.

Drift looked like something in him was about to break. His optics glowed spark-breakingly bright before he buried his head into Perceptor’s shoulder again. His servo, still splayed across Perceptor’s chassis, tugged softly, pulling the red mech closer against his chest.

Nights like this held a special place in Perceptor’s spark.

Just the two of them, and nothing but soft servos and the gentle dark of his habsuite.

Perceptor knew he didn’t need to ask. Drift’s soft murmurs would soon enough fill the whole of the room despite sounding so very small.

Drift’s soft voice murmured hazily into his audial as if the white mech wasn’t really there, but far away, trapped in a distant memory. Perceptor felt the room close in, as if the rest of the yawning darkness had disappeared, and the only space was the berth and the breathless whispers that filled it.

“I never got to thank him.”

Perceptor breathed, rubbing a slow thumb over the back of Drift’s hand.

“...I never will, will I?”

Hollow and broken. Perceptor felt something in his spark break. He couldn’t give reassurance. Not the kind that Drift desperately needed.

Neither mech onlined their optics. Perceptor’s suite stayed bathed in darkness even as their two sparks pulsed brightly inside. Not when Drift gripped Perceptor’s hand even tighter. Not when Perceptor could feel the trail of coolant that streamed from the swordsmech’s closed optics onto his shoulder. Not when he felt something in his spark yearn to reach out and offer something.

_Anything._

He pressed a chaste kiss to Drift’s palm, hoping with a heavy heart that it would be enough.

Resting in against the berth, the Great Sword’s light waned.

* * *

Perceptor sighed, watching from where he sat alone nursing his cube of mid-grade.

He should have never allowed himself to get so close in the first place. Percy glanced at Rodimus as he laughed with his second in command, one hand making wild gestures as the other clasped a gray servo securely in his.

He turned back to his drink, staring blankly into the pink swirling innocently in the glass. Perceptor didn’t need to look up to know that Drift was laughing right along with his amica, the two of them in their own little bubble. But he did anyway, unable to fully resist the self-destructive curiosity he had been ailed with his whole life.

Drift had his captain's yellow servo laced in his own, smiling fondly at Rodimus as he cradled the other’s servo close to his chassis, right over his spark.

Perceptor tried not to wince at the sight.

He knew he had no right to. But he couldn’t stop himself from remembering gentle servos in the darkness, gazing forlornly at the pair as he longed to be to one holding those gray servos instead. He was a fool to think that he could have kept even that for himself. Drift didn’t deserve to be bound by the chains Perceptor wanted to clasp on him. After all the pain and suffering the swordsmech had gone through, the least he deserved was to be free. To be able to take and give pleasure whenever and to whomever he so chose.

Perceptor wanted too much. Had asked for too much.

But he had so desperately hoped when Drift started to spend more time with him, visited him in his lab, and comforted him when no one else bothered to notice. He had caved. And now he was suffering the consequences.

He had promised himself long ago; he would not have a taste of what it was like to bask in the embrace and comforting pulse of another's spark only for it to be pulled away. The one thing he had sworn to himself was to never be forced to stand by and watch as someone he had shared with so many lovely nights and soft kisses gave their spark away to another.

He’d broken his promise.

But before something in him actually decided to sputter and fizzle out, Perceptor caught himself on the edge of the deep spiral he had been standing on. A light beckoned to him, and he clasped it with both hands.

Keep him safe, it whispered. Keep him _happy._

Perceptor stepped away from the abyss, clutching the memory with the resolve of a mech on his last breath. His internal revelation threatened to leak into his still form still hunched over his energon in the booth.

Perceptor onlined his optics despite not remembering having offlined them and gripped the pink cube with a hardened servo.

He’d already failed himself.

He downed the cube in one swing, ignoring the loud _clank_ as he slammed the empty glass onto the table. He wiped away a smudge of energon that had clung to his lips with the back of his hand, rising before marching out of _Swerve's._  

But it would take his own offlining to have him fail Drift.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, critique, recommendations; I'd be delighted if you leave any!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man it has been an actual month since the last chapter and for that I am so sorry. It was actually a recent comment that motivated me to get up off my ass and write this chapter, and a hundred words in, it was practically writing itself. so thank you so much Lotte for taking your time to leave your feedback, and really just getting me out of a slump. (and honestly I was also pretty sad that jro didn't go there in the comics, he is a miracle worker and would have given us SUCH GOOD percy/drift content orz 
> 
> but i mean the dratchet in LL is pretty precious already and hey I'll take what I can get)

“Thank you, Ratchet,” Perceptor said softly. “Truly.”

The medic gave a wave of his hand in a somewhat stark dismissal, but the unbidden rawness in his voice betrayed him.

“I can only hope you’ll feel the same after this.”

Perceptor allowed himself a bitter smile, eyes downcast as he stepped through the med-bay doors. He bid Ratchet farewell, leaving the other in peace to prepare the medical berth he had requested.

He whispered to himself,

“I can only hope for the same.”

* * *

Ratchet stayed silent even after he heard Perceptor step out, back turned to the doors as he stood hunched over the controls of one of the medical slabs. He visibly deflated after a moment, a weary hand covering his face as he sighed deeply.

“What did he do to you?”

Ratchet was torn. He had known Drift for so long and had come to care for him very much, and even his old and cynical self couldn’t deny that Drift was a good mech. He’d lost so much and been spit at, ridiculed, and chained, but a part of him had stayed pure throughout all of it. He’d broken through his shackles and turned to a better life. Drift was strong, and Ratchet had no doubt on his mind that he would continue to be.

But looking at it now, Ratchet could not deny that Drift’s spark of gold did not always shine its light on everything he touched.

Perceptor was the living proof of that.

Never in his life had Ratchet ever seen someone so willing to give up everything they had and any future chances at happiness up for another. Perceptor should have hated Drift. He should have blamed Drift for all his pain and suffering like others had so many times before.

But Perceptor didn’t. He just couldn’t seem to bring himself to.

It was extremely unhealthy, and Ratchet didn’t have to be a psychologist to figure that much out. But the worst part of it all was that Perceptor knew, and didn’t try to move on. He knew, and he simply grit his teeth and continued to love Drift even when he knew Drift no longer loved him.

Ratchet's spark ached for the scientist.

But it was not his place to go about deciding what one mech should feel for another. So he simply complied with Perceptor’s request, vowing to himself that even if he could not mend the other mech’s broken spark, he could do all he could to aid Perceptor in fulfilling his greatest wish.

* * *

It was the dead of the night cycle when he was finally finished with it. Perceptor stood over the device on his work table, hands pressed uncomfortably hard on the table’s cold surface, his joints creaking under the pressure. He clenched and unclenched his fists before heaving a sigh.

:: Ratchet?:: Perceptor leaned over the dials and examined the panels upon panels of circuitry, making sure that a not even a single wire was out of place. :: I'll need you in about a joor.::

The commlink buzzed to life, the recipient still awake and awaiting Perceptor's call even when he should have been deep in recharge like the rest of the crew.

:: ...Don't do anything too stupid.:: was all the medic had to say, and the line fell to static before Perceptor could reply. He glanced in the direction of the med-bay, knowing that Ratchet was inside somewhere, doing all he could for the whims of a single mech like him.

Perceptor's stern lips turned up in a small smile, optics crinkling with a hint of genuine gratitude before it was eclipsed by the beginning of regret. All these mechs loved Drift so much and were willing to go to such lengths to keep him happy.

‘But finally,’ Perceptor flicked on the machine clutched in his hands, raising an arm to shield his face as a glimmer of blinding light appeared in front of him. 'Finally,’ the dot of light burst open into a swirling portal of blue, cerulean sparking around its spinning edges.

‘I can give him someone who truly makes him happy.’

Perceptor stepped through the portal, still clutching the device in his determined servo and his subspace heavy with the medkits and tools. He knew that in only a moment he would appear upon the barren surface of a desert planet, only miles away from the myth known as the Crystal City. But he knew that was not his goal.

‘My goal,’ Perceptor had no time to reorient himself, his pedes already dashing towards the form he saw crumpled on the ground, surrounded by bowed helms, ‘is here,’ he struggled through the mass of mechs, pushing them aside as he stumbled to kneel before Wing's graying form. He ignored the cries of surprise and the mechs that lunged towards him in an attempt to hold him back, and quickly pulled out his medkit and went to work.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing!?” A voice roared, and an almost crushing grip grabbing his shoulder. Perceptor winced but only wordlessly shrugged off the mech's hold, eyes never parting from the hole in Wing's chest, and servos never once stopping in their desperate attempt to save the spark threatening to flicker out of existence.

He focused solely on keeping the shrinking spark in Wing’s chest stable, but he couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief when the Crystal City mechs didn't end up tackling him and keep him from saving their friend. Perceptor pointedly ignored all of the jagged questions the Knights shot at him. Even while still held at bay, they all looked like they were ready to have him in a chokehold any second, especially the largest mech who Percy recognized as Dai Atlas.

“Who are you? How did you even get here?” Dai Atlas growled stiffly, fists clenching. _“What are you doing to Wing?”_

“I'm stabilizing him,” Perceptor offered. “He'll need to be taken to a proper medic and undergo an extensive recovery if he is to ever get back on his feet again.”

“Stabilizing?!” A Knight stepped forward in surprise, barely able to contain himself from darting next to Wing's side. “He's not offline?”

“If I had not come when I did, he would have been,” Perceptor replied starkly. He ignored the glare burning at his back, the gaze of the mechs clustered around him a steady pressure bearing down on him relentlessly. The scientist didn’t bat an eye, however, and instead lost himself in the work, the desert surface falling away around him along with the jagged stares.

Even as he focused solely on the mech’s spark chamber, Perceptor couldn’t help but notice just how stunning Wing was, in ways very similar to Drift. His frame design was gorgeous, and Perceptor felt a sudden strong sense of déjà vu as he held his tongue to stop himself from asking about it.

But even though his white plating was covered with dust and debris, Wing was still leagues above him. Perceptor could not stop himself from grimacing at the sight of his own bulky, dirty servos and how heavily they contrasted from the delicate spark chamber they appeared to be defiling.

But he quickly sealed off these thoughts from the forefront of his mind, already feeling disgusted with himself. He, of all mechs, should know that one should never be judged for their beauty purely on the physical level. Perceptor smoothed out his expression and stray thoughts, stern facade snapping back into place.

He grunted when he finally saw the bright blue of Wing’s spark stop spinning and dim frighteningly in sporadic intervals, now instead a steady pulse of beautiful bright light. Perceptor clenched his hand, something in his chest constricting as he stowed away the med kit back into his subspace. He didn’t turn when he heard the Knights close in on him, only bowing his helm in mock defeat.

Perceptor stood up from Wing’s side, turning to regard Dai Atlas, who had been hovering over his shoulder the entire time. The Knights converged around Wing, some of them smiling in unabashed relief that someone had been able to save at least one of their kin. Dai Atlas could only spare a glance at the frame of his Knight before leveling a hard stare on Perceptor.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Perceptor stood his ground, gazing determinedly up at the taller mech. “But, please, for Wing’s sake as well as ours, listen to me.”

“I hardly think this is the time or place, stranger,” Dai Atlas rumbled, cold look unmoving. “We will need to take you in for questioning before we determine any further courses of action. I can see you wear the Autobot brand on your chest, but I can hardly assume-”

He was cut off when the Knights started to whisper and let out cries of distress and surprise. Wing had started to convulse where he was laying on the ground, optics open and glowing a bright white. Perceptor was next to Wing in a heartbeat, already peering inside Wing’s exposed spark chamber with a frown.

What should have been a stunning star of blue was instead a drop of light tainted by the beginnings of green licking at the sides. Perceptor furrowed his brow, resisting the urge to curse underneath his breath.

“Please,” Perceptor’s voice was full of conviction, and Dai Atlas felt as if he was unable to bring himself to completely turn away the stranger as he had originally intended. “Just let me work on him inside Crystal City. _I promise_ I will explain all that I can after Wing is in stable condition.”

The Knights all looked towards their leader, many of them with shining optics that only added to Dai Atlas’ building pressure. He winced, processor coming to a short standstill. But the stray glance he allowed at Wing’s distressing form and flickering spark sealed his decision.

He pinned Perceptor with a grudging glare before hurriedly walking over to lift up his fallen Knight into his arms.

Even as they were rushing towards the gates of Crystal City, Perceptor struggling to keep up, he whispered despite knowing no one would hear him before it was lost to the winds whipping around them.

_“Thank you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment, critique, or any and all forms of feedback really, are SO appreciated like you don't EVEN KNOW

**Author's Note:**

> comments and critique are very much appreciated if you could give them! thanks for reading and have a nice day while i go cry about percy


End file.
